


You're A Wizard, Harry

by thebittermountain



Series: Rewriting The Story [1]
Category: Harry - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore is a little too focused on the 'Greater Good', Andromeda Tonks is a mother, Black Hermione, Don't Mess With the Black Family, Dora is a big sister, Gen, He's also dealing with Harry/Shay as Andromeda's kid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Indian Harry, Jewish-Maori Ted Tonks, Minerva McGonagall Doesn't Put Up With Nonsense, Minerva McGonagall is a wonderful godmother, Multi, Snape is snarky but not completely terrible, The Dursleys are awful, The Magical World is actually complex, Vietnamese-French Andromeda, mostly neglect and verbal but that still counts, there are lots of other magical schools
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-06 07:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebittermountain/pseuds/thebittermountain
Summary: The story is rewritten, Harry has living family, and a protective lioness of a godmother





	1. Perfectly Normal, Thank You Very Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this is unbetaed. Also warnings for a bit of racism on the part of characters. The author doesn't condone racism at all. There will be no character bashing, except maybe a bit toward Dumbledore. Any warnings about content will always be in the beginning notes.

Privet Drive, a neighborhood in a suburb in Surrey, was a quiet, well-kept place. It was what some people might call respectable or well-off, while others, perhaps more imaginative and curious might call boring, prejudiced, and insular. The houses were large, the streets were grid-like, the hedges were uniform, and the lawns were mowed regularly. The residents of Privet Drive were very happy to live in such a respectable area. But what they were most proud of was that they were absolutely normal. Everyone was properly British and decent, regular folk. But there was no family quite so obsessed and proud of this fact as the Dursleys. Mr. Dursley was a working-class director of a drill-making factory who had worked his way up from the bottom. He was very proud of that fact and had decided to enjoy the privileges it afforded him. In his case, it meant eating whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and taking great care of his flamboyant mustache. Mrs. Dursley, born Evans, was also from the working class, which might have explained at least partially why she was so hung up on appearing properly normal. She enjoyed their prosperity by trying her best to imitate fashion magazines, getting her hair done, spying on the neighbors, and taking care of their son, Dudley. The Dursleys loved Dudley dearly, perhaps to the extent of spoiling him, and believed that ‘there was no finer boy anywhere’.  
However, despite having everything they could ever want, the Dursleys were not completely happy. You see, the Dursleys had a secret that they were deathly afraid of anyone discovering. Mrs. Dursley had a sister, a sister she hadn’t seen in years. Her sister and her lay about foreigner husband were as un-Dursley and alien to Privet Drive as it was possible to be. The Dursleys were terrified to think what would happen if the two appeared in the neighborhood one day, particularly since they also had a son. This son was another reason Mrs. Dursley refused to have contact with her sister; they couldn’t have Dudley mixing with a child like that.  
One day, a normal, grey Tuesday, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up as if it was going to be one like any other. After all, there was nothing ro suggest otherwise. Not at that point, anyway. Mr. Dursley smiled and hummed offkey as he prepared for work. Mrs. Dursley sang lightly as she wrestled a resistant Dudley into his high chair. The singing didn’t help.  
Neither of the couple noticed a tawny barn owl fly past the window, although Dudley did, the sight quieting him long enough for his mother to get him settled into his chair.  
Around eight-thirty, Mr. Dursley left for work, giving his wife a kiss, and tried to kiss Dudley on the cheek. This didn’t work, because his son had decided he didn’t like his cereal and started having a tantrum. Mr. Dursley laughed, and went out the door, leaving his slightly frazzled wife to deal with their screaming child. As he drove out of the neighborhood, he noticed a cat—not one belonging to any of the neighbors—walking along the hedge. He blinked, then shrugged, knowing that Animal Control would deal with the feline if necessary, and put the experience out of his mind.  
Mr. Dursley would have been very perturbed, however, if he saw what the cat did once he was out of site. The stern-looking tabby leaped down, looked around carefully, then snuck over to number four Privet Drive, the address of the Dursleys, and proceeded to hop up on the low brick wall along the driveway and stare intently in the window. Not even Mrs. Dursley’s shriek when she saw it would budge the cat—she was terrified of them—it stayed there all day.  
Now, back to Mr. Dursley. For most of his morning commute was uneventful, the man only considering the large order of drills scheduled to arrive today. But once he hit town, he noticed something strange. Stuck in the usual morning rush traffic jam, he saw a large number of people wearing cloaks, pointy hats, and other strange or old-fashioned clothing. Mr. Dursley frowned in disgust. The weird new get ups you saw on young people these days, he thought, conveniently forgetting that he himself was barely thirty. Then he looked closer and was aghast to see that some of these people were the same age, maybe even older than his own parents! The nerve! But then Mr. Dursley remembered that it was the day after Halloween. Perhaps these people had been celebrating in the American style with candies and costume parties that was becoming popular. It was still rather disreputable, but at least that made sense. It tended to be in urban centers that people did that anyway. The traffic finally started moving again, and Mr. Dursley was able to forget these strange people and refocus his thoughts on work.  
Now, Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office, so he wouldn’t be distracted. If he hadn’t, he might have had further trouble trying to focus on drills. He had no idea that owls were sweeping past his window in large numbers. In broad daylight! No, Mr. Dursley had a completely normal, productive morning. He was in a very good mood until he decide to stretch his legs at lunchtime and get a pastry from the bakery across the street.  
He had entirely forgotten about the strangely dressed people until he walked by a group of them next to the bakery. He glared them as he walked past—he had no idea why, but they made him profoundly uncomfortable. This bunch seemed incredibly excited too. On his way back to his office, holding a doughnut in a bag, he caught some of their words.  
“The Potters, that’s right, that’s what I heard—”  
“—yes, their son, Harry—”  
Mr. Dursley froze, fear paralyzing him. He looked back at the whisperers, thinking about saying something, but thought better of it, rushing back inside instead. He hurried up to his office and snapped at his secretary to not disturb him and began to dial home. He had almost finished when he stopped, and put the receiver down, thinking. No, he was being silly. He wasn’t even sure that Potter was his in-laws surname. Wasn’t it something foreign? Potter was extremely English. And Harry probably wasn’t his nephew’s name either. It was probably also something foreign. ‘There was no point in worrying’ his wife; any mention of her sister always made her upset. He didn’t blame her, to be honest. But regardless, those strange people…  
It was much harder for Mr. Dursley to focus that afternoon, and when he left for home, he was still so distracted that he walked right into someone.  
“Apologies,” he grunted, red with embarrassment as a tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. Mr. Dursley noticed that the man was wearing a brilliant purple cloak and what looked like a dress. To add to Mr. Dursley’s confusion, the man didn’t seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. Instead, he smiled widely and said in a squeaky voice that attracted the attention of passersby,  
“Oh not at all, good sir! Nothing could upset me today. You-Know-Who is defeated at last! Even Muggles like you should be celebrating this wonderful, wonderful day!” Mr. Dursley gaped at the old man, and began to back slowly away, more than a little rattled. Once he was out of sight of the old man, he ran to his car and headed home, hoping he was imagining things, which was strange and unusual because Mr. Dursley did not approve of imagination.  
As he pulled into his driveway, he saw the same tabby cat he’d seen that morning, now sitting on the garden wall. It did not improve his mood, particularly since he knew it would cause his wife hysterics.  
“Shoo!” He said loudly. The cat didn’t budge, staring at him. Was that normal? Mr. Dursley wondered. He tried to settle himself as he let himself into the house. He still hoped to not mention anything to his wife.  
Mrs. Dursley, on the other hand, had had a much better day than her husband, and a much more normal one. She happily told her husband over dinner all about the troubles their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Walker, was having with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word— “Won’t”. Mr. Dursley tried to behave like everything was normal. After they put their son to bed, Mr. Dursley slipped into the living room to catch the last of the evening news. He frowned reflexively upon seeing the newscaster, wondering, as he did every time, why they had hired a foreigner to replace Bill Robinson when he’d retired.  
“Finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation’s owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of theses birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.” The newscaster grinned. “Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?” (p. 6 HPSS). The weatherman laughed and said,  
“I don’t know about owls, Ted, but there’s been some other odd events happening today as well. I’ve heard from viewers from Kent to Dundee saying that instead of rain, they’ve been getting shooting stars! Maybe people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early—it’s not until next week, viewers! But it’s definitely looking like rain tonight.” Mr. Dursley couldn’t move. Shooting stars? Owls in daylight? People in strange clothes? A mention of the Potters? He managed to turn as his wife came into the living room with two cups of tea. He sighed. He had to say something. Clearing his throat nervously, Mr. Dursley said,  
“Petunia dear, have you heard from your sister lately?” His wife stiffened, shooting him a deadly look, as he’d half-expected. They did usually pretend that she didn’t have a sister.  
“No. Why?” She asked, her voice steely. Mr. Dursley rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.  
“Some weird stuff on the news,” he mumbled. “Owls…shooting stars…and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today…” (p. 7 HPSS)  
“And?” she snapped.  
“I thought it could maybe have to do with her crowd, you know,” he said rapidly. His wife sipped her tea, bright green eyes narrowed. Mr. Dursley debated whether or not to mention he’d heard the name ‘Potter’. Eventually he decided it wasn’t wise. Instead, he asked carefully and calmly as possible, “Their son is about Dudley’s age, right?”  
“Probably,” his wife spit out.  
“What’s his name? Something like Harry, right?”  
“I don’t know. I can’t pronounce it—some sort of nasty foreign name—but that sounds familiar.” Mr. Dursley’s heart sank. He didn’t raise the subject again as the couple began to prepare for bed. While his wife was brushing her teeth, Mr. Dursley looked outside of the bedroom window. No owls or shooting stars, but the cat was still there, sitting patiently on the wall.  
Mr. Dursley rubbed at his face. Maybe this wasn’t really all connected. It was all too strange—but then, his in-laws were very strange. Hopefully it didn’t have anything to do with them. He got into bed, thinking about it some more before he fell asleep. He was reassured by the remembrance that his wife’s sister and her husband were very much aware of how much the Dursleys hated their kind. They knew better than to come near him and Petunia. There was no way that any of this, even if it involved them, could affect the Dursleys.  
Mr. Dursley had no idea how completely wrong he was.  
Outside Number Four, the cat was still there, intently looking at the far end of Privet Drive. It didn’t move at all until midnight. At that point, an older man appeared on the sidewalk, with a faint pop. The cat narrowed its eyes, and its tail began to twitch rapidly.  
This man was not someone who would fit in on Privet Drive. His half-moon glasses weren’t that strange, nor was his crooked nose. But his pointed, dark blue, wide-brimmed hat, steely gray hair and beard reaching his waist, heeled boots, and obnoxiously colored robes and light blue cloak would all conspire to make him unwelcomed by most residents of Privet Drive. The name of this man was Albus Dumbledore.  
Dumbledore wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, instead searching in his cloak for something. But he did eventually realize someone was watching him, looking up suddenly to meet eyes with the cat. He chuckled, saying,  
“I am not surprised. Of course she would take it this seriously.”  
Finally, he found what he was looking for, a thin silver tube. He clicked it and the nearest street light went out. He did this twelve times altogether, until the entire street was lit only by the moon and stars. No one, not even the nosiest—like Mrs. Dursley—would be able to see anything if they looked out their window. Albus Dumbledore put the Put-Outer back in his cloak and walked toward number four. As he approached, the cat shuddered, and sort of melted, and then there was a severe looking woman, her currently pinched features making her look even more so. Her greying, curly red-hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she was also wearing glasses, square-rimmed frames. Her clothes, on the other hand, were faintly old-fashioned, looking more appropriate to the late thirties or forties, but other-wise unremarkable.  
“Professor Dumbledore,” she said sharply. Dumbledore smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling.  
“My dear Professor McGonagall, what are you doing here instead of celebrating?” She huffed, her Scottish accent becoming more apparent.  
“Och, yes, celebrating. Everybody is celebrating, sae much sae that even mundanes are noticing that something is up.” She pointed behind her at the house, her voice getting more heated. “It’s even on their news. Ted Tonks was very amused. Shooting stars, owls in th’ middle o’ town? Doesn’t a’body have any sense?” Dumbledore looked at her reprovingly.  
“Minerva, my dear, can you really blame them? We’ve had so little to celebrate the last few years. And why didn’t you join them? When I suggested you check in on Lily’s sister I didn’t mean for you to be here the whole day.” Professor McGonagall still sounded irritated, though a little less Scots as she said,  
“I do know that, Albus. But that’s no reason to lose all caution. The Death Eaters are still out there, and people are talking with no attempt at secrecy or blending in! It’s irresponsible.” She gave him a sharp sideways look. “Wouldn’t it be a fine thing if the day that You-Know-Who seems to have been done away with, we break the Statute of Secrecy irreparably?” She let out a long breath. “He really is gone, Albus?” she asked. Dumbledore nodded.  
“It certainly appears to be the case, at least for now. Would you like a lemon drop, Minerva?”  
“What?” she said, looking at him like she thought he’d gone off his rocker.  
“A lemon drop. They’re a kind of Muggle sweet I’m rather fond of (p. 10, HPSS).  
“I think not,” she said coldly. “Anyways, even if You-Know-Who has been defeated—” Dumbledore cut her off.  
“Minerva, surely a sensible witch such as yourself could call him by his name. It’s confusing to use such terms as ‘You-Know-Who’. I’ve never seen any reason to be frightened of calling him Voldemort.” Professor McGonagall looked at him in exasperation.  
“That would be because of two reasons Albus. V-Voldemort was scared of you, and you are just as powerful as him, if not more so. But there was a bloody Taboo on the name, and most people can’t defend themselves like you can.” Dumbledore shrugged, his eyes no longer twinkling, but he didn’t contest McGonagall’s words. She sighed and continued. “Beyond the recklessness going on, there are some rumors flying around that are almost unbelievable. You know what people are saying about why he disappeared and what stopped him?” Dumbledore looked away from her piercing stare and chose another lemon drop. “Albus!” she said sharply. He sighed and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.  
“Yes, Minerva. Lily and James are dead.” Professor McGonagall gasped and swayed, a hand to her heart, her grey-green eyes bright.  
“Lily and James Poddar, dead? I can’t believe it. I didn’t want to. How…” she trailed off. Dumbledore patted her on the shoulder.  
“I know…I know…I know…” he said heavily (p. 12, HPSS). McGonagall brushed roughly at her eyes.  
“And my godson, little Harshad. Little Harry. He seems to have disappeared. I’ve heard that Voldemort tried to kill him, but somehow it backfired.” She looked back at Dumbledore. “Is that why you had them hide? Why you had Alice and Frank hide too?” Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes faintly shiny. Voice hoarse he said,  
“Yes, though I don’t want to go into specifics. And Voldemort did try to kill Harry, and it did turn back on him.” McGonagall stared at him with wide eyes.  
“B-but Albus, how? How did a baby boy manage to foil one of the most powerful dark lords in recent history?” Dumbledore’s voice was glum, and his eyes were certainly not twinkling when he said,  
“Minerva, I’m afraid I have no idea.” Professor McGonagall nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from a pocket while Dumbledore checked his watch.  
“Hagrid should be here any moment, Minerva. And you really don’t need to stay.” Her eyes narrowed.  
“You really think I’m going to leave before I know why you wanted me to watch this house? Not a chance, Albus.” He sighed, but he knew his deputy too well to think he could do anything to get her to leave while she was in this sort of mood.  
“Hagrid is bringing Harry here, to his aunt and uncle. They’re the only family he has left now.” McGonagall stared at him aghast.  
“What?!” she finally spluttered. “Albus, you can’t do that. These people are perfectly awful, and completely unlike us. Their son is spoiled, they hate anything unusual, and they hate the Poddars.” She pushed her glasses up roughly. “Besides, that’s not true. His great-grandmother is still alive, as is his maternal grandmother, Heather. Besides blood family, he has two sets of godparents. Why not let Sirius, Alice, Severus, or I take him? I don’t know about Severus, but the rest of us would love to take him.” Dumbledore shook his head.  
“It’s the best place for him, Minerva. Do you think he should grow up famous for something he won’t even remember? Is that really good for a child? Besides, I’m going to leave a letter to explain everything?” McGonagall began to laugh hysterically, leaning over. Between laughs, she said,  
“Albus. You really think a letter will explain everything? Did you listen to a word I said?” She abruptly narrowed her eyes and straightened up. Still sounding a bit breathless, she said, “As much as I respect you, Albus, what gives you legal rights above godparents and blood family to decide where Harshad will go?” Dumbledore coughed and said,  
“Ah, James made a last-minute change to his will. It seems he didn’t trust Severus to have Harry’s best interests at heart and gave me over-arching rights to decide Harry’s best interests. Since he was the head of the Potter family…” He trailed off. McGonagall’s frown deepened, and she asked,  
“What about Lily’s will, Albus? She was his wife. Her will would carry equal weight, especially if she died after James.” Dumbledore shifted on his feet.  
“Well, Minerva, the goblins were insistent that it was sealed and would not tell me the conditions for opening it, so the point is moot.” McGonagall blew out a breath, clearly not satisfied, but said,  
“Very well, if that’s the case, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it. But I still submit that I have concerns about this decision, Albus. Couldn’t we visit him though?” Dumbledore looked apologetic.  
“I don’t believe that would be a good idea, Minerva.” She was about to challenge him when a rumbling sound came from above. She looked up, a confused frown replacing her irritated one.  
“How did you say Rubeus was getting here again, Albus?” she asked. His voice now closer to its normal cheer, he said,  
“I didn’t. I just asked him to do so as quickly as possible.” With that, a large, vintage motorcycle fell out of the sky. On the motorcycle was a very large man. He was at twice as tall as a man of normal height, and probably more than two times as wide. He had wild, wiry black hair and beard, and was wearing a leather trench coat with a frankly ridiculous amount of pockets. Cradled in his left arm was a bundle of blankets. Professor McGonagall blinked, then said,  
“Rubeus, did you get that motorcycle from Mr. Black?” Hagrid grinned at her, revealing brilliant white teeth and shiny black eyes.  
“That I did, Professor. Young Sirius must have realized something was wrong—I ran into him at the house, which was heavily damaged—and he lent it to me.” Professor McGonagall frowned again, but only said,  
“Rubeus, may I hold Harry?” Hagrid nodded, still smiling.  
“O’ course professor. Be careful though, he’s asleep, fell asleep half-way through the ride.” Professor McGonagall raised a brow at him, holding her hands out for the bundle. Once she had her godson in her arms, she said sharply,  
“Rubeus. I know how to handle babies. I had five of my own, and I have grandchildren.” Hagrid flushed and muttered an apology. Professor McGonagall waved him off, rocking the sleeping child gently. Her face melted in a way that her students would be flabbergasted to see. She rubbed a gentle finger against his cheek, then brushed his hair, already fast growing and unwieldy like his father’s, away from his forehead. She abruptly jumped and cursed softly in Gaelic. Both Rubeus and Dumbledore stared at her. She beckoned them over. Both men peered over to see a fresh cut shaped something like a lightning bolt on the boy’s forehead.  
“It feels dark, Albus. It was like a shock when I brushed my hand against it.” Dumbledore frowned.  
“I forgot you could sense magic, Minerva. But are you sure? Couldn’t it be residue or your imagination?” McGonagall glared at him.  
“I doubt I imagined it, Albus. But I supposed it could be residue. Maybe it’s just a curse scar. He’s going to have it forever.” Dumbledore nodded soberly, then became all business.  
“Well, we must get this over with. Dawn is coming soon. We don’t want get caught.” Both Hagrid and McGonagall nodded. Gently, and reluctantly she placed her godson on the doorstep. Dumbledore pulled an envelope from his robes and placed it on top of him. He glanced at Hagrid and realized that the big man was about to start crying. He placed a hand on Hagrid’s arm and the two men popped out of existence, along with the motorcycle. The lights returned as Dumbledore disappeared.  
Professor McGonagall stayed a bit longer. She sat down beside the one-year-old, and whispered,  
“I love you, Harshad James Poddar. So did your parents and all of your family. We will find a way to get you back. For now, I hope you will be safe, if not happy.” She leaned down and kissed Harshad on the forehead. He wiggled and turned, but didn’t wake up, though he did grab at the letter with one little hand. Professor McGonagall blinked back tears, and straightened up, turning back into a cat and slinking off. Her godson slept on, having no idea that he would be woken by his aunt’s scream as she put out the milk bottles. He couldn’t possibly know that many people were wondering where he was and hoping he was safe while mourning his parents. He couldn’t know that many more were cheering as result of the rumor that he had defeated the dark lord who had terrorized Britain for eleven years, that they were raising glasses to “Harry Potter—the boy who lived!” (p. 17, HPSS).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this sounds very, very similar to the first chapter. While some overall plot events will stay the same, it will hopefully get less close in wording and details. If I’m quoting directly, I will cite it.  
> In this ‘verse, Harry is Indian—his family is from Maharashtra originally—so his last name is actually Poddar, not Potter. The Dursleys are just really racist and awful. There is racism and sexism in the magical world, though there is substantially less sexism. So yeah, there’s some unconscious and conscious racism along with the blood purity nonsense present in canon.  
> Also, I am white, so if I majorly screw anything up, please tell me in the comments. Also, if anyone has suggestions when it comes to further authenticity, please feel free to tell me.


	2. Nearly Ten Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva is absolutely done with Albus. Harry meets Andromeda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some racism on the part of characters, as well as abuse--mostly verbal or neglect.

It was mid-August, and a certain Minerva McGonagall was consulting the student registry to see who she had to send letters. As always, despite the Ministry’s insistence that Hogwarts was the best and only British school, there were children marked as attending other schools both within and without the Isles. Minerva hadn’t realized how much she was hoping that her godson was going to be marked as one of those students, like her son and two of her daughters until she didn’t see his name in that category. She knew it wasn’t likely; after all, she had checked on Harshad over the years—not often, as she had three different jobs to manage at Hogwarts—and she was not reassured by the care and behavior of the Dursleys. She no longer trusted Albus, not really, and especially not when it came to her godson. The headmaster couldn’t even get Harshad’s name right and had obliviated Rubeus of the location! Minerva checked through all the remaining names and almost missed her godson’s name until she realized it was written as ‘Harry J. Potter’. She frowned darkly. Harry may have been her godson’s nickname, but his legal name was Harshad James Potter. Who had changed it? How had they changed it? No one, not even the headmasters, were supposed to be able to fiddle with Hogwarts Magic.  
Minerva closed her eyes and did something she rarely did, something that she had been taught to always hide. She sent out a tendril of her magical core to that of Hogwarts, the semi-sentient being that the school had become.  
A few moments later, Minerva blinked dazed eyes open, and let out a long breath. She’d learned a lot more than she intended to and frankly, she was wondering why she hadn’t done this since she entered the doors of Hogwarts for the first time. The wards and almost every protection magic had been steadily weakened over the years. The castle had tried to fix what it could, but it could only do so much without a mage to back it up. Even the magical objects within the school had been meddled with to reduce their efficacy. She shivered—it was frightening. Thankfully, she was powerful enough to fix the registry book and the Sorting Hat. Nursing a slight headache, she sighed, and decided to strengthen her Occlumency shields. She was learning more and more unsettling things, and it would not do to leave her thoughts unprotected.  
Minerva looked over the names again, sadly. Even adding in the children not attending, the number was far too low. Both Grindelwald in the thirties and forties, and then Voldemort had taken a toll on attendance levels. There probably would have been a drop even without the two wars, but the way they’d exacerbated prejudice and hate had resulted in even lower birthrates.  
She pushed her glasses up on her nose and tapped first one form letter, then the other, saying “Dùblachadh” softly, and holding the number in her mind. She then signed her name to each pile and went to find Albus.  
“My family and I will be visiting all the mundane-raised this year, Headmaster” she said firmly. He didn’t even raise his head, working on what appeared to be a piece of legislation.  
“Very well, Minerva,” he said absentmindedly.  
“That includes my godson, Dumbledore.” At that, he looked up, his pale blue eyes absent their usual deceitful twinkle.  
“Minerva…I was thinking perhaps Hagrid. He has such a way of making friends.”  
“No, absolutely not,” she said flatly. “Have you forgotten that you took the location of the Dursleys from Hagrid’s mind? Besides, do you really think that a half-giant would be the best way to introduce Harshad to the Magical world, considering who you decided to hide him away with?” Albus tried to protest.  
“But, Minerva, dear—”  
“Don’t call me dear. You have no right. Besides, my father was non-magical, half my cousins are non-magical, and one of my daughters has no active magic. I think I know how to handle mundanes. Not to mention, I’ve been handling such visits for years with no protest from you.” Albus deflated, removing his glasses and placing them on his desk.  
“Very well, Minerva. I will let you do as you think best.” She nodded shortly, bowing to Fawkes, before sweeping off to mail the letters for the magically raised students.  
* * *  
Meanwhile, on Privet Drive, the boy who was called Harry Potter by the Dursleys was still sleeping as the sun rose. He was startled from his dreams by the sharp voice of his aunt.  
“Get up!” He jumped up, only missing hitting his head on the low ceiling of his cupboard under the stairs through long habit, vainly trying to grasp onto the fragments of his last dream. It had been a happy one—he remembered a woman’s kind voice and a gentle touch—completely unlike real life. He shook spiders out of his socks and looked for his badly fixed glasses. They were handed to him by a small corn snake. He smiled and balanced them on his nose before saying,  
“Good morning, Minnie. Thank you. Make sure you get a chance to get out today. At least one of us should have fun.” The snake coiled around his fingers gently before hissing,  
“Not a problem, Speaker. Yes. I will tell you stories?” Harry nodded.  
“Yes, please.” He had found Minnie about three or four years ago when he had first started doing chores outside. The little snake had been startled by his raking and jumped at him, hissing. To both of their surprise, he had understood her, and a friendship was born. After a few months, she had asked for a name, and he called her Minnie. It just…felt right, for some reason. Minnie slipped out of his hands, back into the shadows as she felt vibrations coming back down the hall. There was a rap on his door, and his aunt screeched,  
“Up yet? Hurry, I want everything perfect for Duddy’s birthday!” Harry allowed himself one small sigh before saying,  
“Yes, Aunt Petunia, I’m coming.”  
“Good,” she snapped, before walking off. Harry opened his door, and shutting it, figured his aunt was probably in the kitchen.  
His aunt was standing at the stove, desultorily poking at the bacon already in a pan. She shoved the spatula at him as he came in.  
“Here. Don’t burn it.” Harry didn’t dare laugh, doing as his aunt ordered. Aunt Petunia was terrible at cooking. Until Harry was tall enough to reach the stove, the Dursleys had eaten out or eaten TV dinners. He was far less likely to burn food than Petunia. One of his aunt’s rare compliments, delivered when she was teaching him how to cook, was that he was gifted at it, like his mother and grandmother. Of course that was promptly followed by scolding for dirtying the dishes. Harry finished dishing the bacon as his uncle walked in. Uncle Vernon grunted, pecked Aunt Petunia on the cheek, and sat down at the table, hiding his face behind a newspaper. Harry used the distraction as an excuse to look at his cousin’s gifts as he carried the bacon and potatoes to the table. It looked like Dudley had gotten everything he wanted. Again. Harry sighed quietly as he returned to the stove. He doubted the Dursleys would even acknowledge his birthday; it was in the summer, so they had a perfect reason. Out of protective habit, Harry pulled his oversized sleeves to cover his arms and hands as he fried eggs in a now angrily hissing pan. Dudley came in as Harry was serving the eggs. His cousin looked a lot like Uncle Vernon—round face, small eyes, and thick, curly hair. Except for its blond color, he looked nothing like his skinny mother. In fact, with her green eyes, bony frame, and thin face, she looked much more like Harry. Though she would deny their physical similarities until she was blue in the face.  
Minus a small tantrum on the part of Dudley about how many presents he got, the breakfast went surprisingly well. Harry even got to eat until he was full—he was very practiced in eating quickly. The downside came when the telephone rang while Harry was doing the dishes and Dudley was opening his presents. Aunt Petunia went to answer it. Harry tensed when she came back with pinched features and flashing eyes. Uncle Vernon might not like him much, and Dudley liked to mess with him, but Aunt Petunia was the one to be scared of. He wasn’t expecting what came out of her mouth.  
“Vernon, it looks like Mrs. Figg can’t take him. Her leg is broken.” Mrs. Figg was a widowed lady down the block who watched Harry ever since he was too old for the free childcare at the rec center. The Dursleys didn’t trust Harry alone. Well, they didn’t trust him at all, to be honest. But they didn’t like leaving him alone because weird things happened around him. It was never on purpose, but Harry did things that scared people. Like flying to the top of the roof when Aunt Petunia yelled at him or turning his bullies’ shoelaces into snakes. He was better at controlling it now, but sometimes he still couldn’t help it. Harry’s heart was in his throat, but he knew better than to show his excitement. But he did clean the dishes a bit more quietly, straining his ears to hear his aunt and uncle talk.  
Thirty minutes later, Harry was pinching himself to check whether what he was experiencing was real. He was squashed between Dudley and his best friend Piers in the middle seat of Uncle Vernon’s car. He’d never been to the zoo before in his life. Maybe they’d have snakes. But honestly, even just any animals other than cats or dogs would be good enough for him. Vernon and Petunia had appeased Dudley by saying that his cousin could have a second birthday trip that he could invite two people on as soon as Mrs. Figg could take Harry again. Even the thought of returning to Mrs. Figg’s house with its mold, too many cats, and breakable glass figurines couldn’t dim Harry’s excitement. Neither could Uncle Vernon’s habitual complaining as he drove.  
Once they reached the gates of the zoo, Uncle Verrnon grabbed Harry by the collar. His face red, and spitting lightly, he said,  
“You will stay out of ear shot but within sight, and no funny business. Otherwise, you will be stuck in your cupboard for the rest of the school year, do you understand?” Harry nodded quickly.  
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” His uncle grunted and shoved him away. Harry stumbled, but caught himself, walking quickly ahead of the group. The zoo was all he’d hoped it would be—animals from every continent he’d read about, and even an area devoted entirely to snakes and other reptiles. He even got a cheap lemon ice pop when the lady selling frozen treats asked what he wanted before the Dursleys could move on. He quickly distanced himself from them after that. While he was wandering, just barely within sight of his aunt and uncle, his eyes latched onto an interesting-looking family. The father looked remarkably like Ted Tonks the newscaster. More interestingly, the mother was dressed in very old-fashioned clothing. She looked like the Victorian women he’d seen in book pictures, and snippets from his aunt’s favorite movies. Except not, because she wasn’t white. The young woman with them, who looked to be their daughter, had bright pink hair and ripped clothes on. Harry had never seen anyone like her before. She was holding hands with a red-haired man about the same age, who was covered in freckles. They were both laughing. Harry was intrigued, and despite the fact he knew better than to catch the attention of anyone, he drifted closer.  
* * *  
Andromeda Black Tonks was distracted from trying to convince her husband to go see the snakes with her by a poke from her daughter. She turned and raised a reproving brow at her daughter.  
“Nymphadora, haven’t I taught you better manners than that?” Her daughter winced and glared at her.  
“Mum!”  
“Oh, alright, Dora,” Andromeda grumbled. “My point still stands, though.” Nymphadora shrugged and leaned into her mother’s side. Andromeda put an arm around her as she whispered,  
“Mum, do you see that boy loitering near us? He looks a lot like cousin James, and I swear I saw a scar when he scratched his forehead.” Andromeda blinked, flabbergasted, and looked up to meet the equally shocked eyes of her husband. Ted chewed on his lip, his usual mischievous expression gone, and he leaned forward to say quietly,  
“I saw him too, taku nakahi, but he looks skittish, and that worries me.” Andromeda frowned, not even her husband’s usual endearment brightening her mood.  
“At least we never worshipped at Dumbledore’s altar,” she said, with a glance at Charlie, who was seemingly absorbed in the display in front of the gorilla enclosure. Her daughter choked briefly, and Charlie turned around with a grim smile.  
“Oh, the old phoenix never really had my trust, cousin. I’m not my mother, nor am I quite as laid back as my father.” Andromeda shook her head, and asked, not for the first time,  
“Why weren’t you in Slytherin, Charlie? You’d fit much better than some of the current numbskulls.” Her daughter’s best friend shrugged, his smile still lazy.  
“I didn’t want to give my mother a heart attack. Besides, can you imagine a Slytherin Weasley being able to work with dragons? After the war we had?” And with that, he dragged a clearly terrified small boy into their little circle. Andromeda shook her head in disbelief, and then knelt down to the boy’s height. Her heart went out to the tiny child as her heart filled with the wild Black anger. She knew her eyes were probably sparking, so she consciously made her voice gentle as the boy stared at her with wide green eyes. Green eyes like those of Severus Snape’s best friend Lily, her cousin James’ wife.  
“Little one, we don’t want to hurt you. My name is Andromeda Black Tonks. This is my husband, Edward Tane Tonks, our daughter Nymphadora Huhana, and her best friend Charles Grigor Weasley.” The boy tugged at his oversized, fraying sweatshirt and didn’t answer immediately. When he did, he was so quiet that Andromeda had to lean forward to hear him.  
“My aunt and uncle call me Harry. My teachers call me Mr. Potter. Sometimes, when they’re mad, they call me Boy or Freak.” He put a hand over his mouth, his eyes getting impossibly wider, and he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” Andromeda desperately wanted to hug her little cousin, but she didn’t know if that was a good idea. Instead, she said, softly,  
“We’re not strangers, little one. You’re my cousin. Your great-grandmother is my great-aunt. And Charlie’s grandmothers are my great-aunts, so he’s your cousin as well.” Her little cousin blinked, then wrinkled his nose.  
“Oh. Ew, does that mean Charlie’s parents are cousins, An-An-dro-meda?” he asked, carefully sounding out her name. He was remarkably accurate considering he’d clearly never said it before. He must like reading myths. Charlie and Nymphadora doubled over laughing hysterically, and her cousin gave them a bewildered look, clearly not sure that they were well. Andromeda managed a smile.  
“Very distant ones, yes. Our family is quite a large one, or it used to be, anyways. It used to be hard to go some places without running into a Black.” Above her, Ted snorted bitterly. She ignored him. She knew very well her husband’s, somewhat warranted, negative opinions of her family. Her cousin walked closer, clearly starting to overcome his fear. She kept still, not wanting to spook him. He was barely touching her out-stretched hand, his face painfully bright with hope when a shrill yell made him jerk.  
“Harry! What are you doing talking to that pack of foreigners? Honestly, we can’t trust you anywhere? Get away from them right now! What have I told you about talking to strangers?” Harry seemed to fold back in on himself and turned away reluctantly. As he ran away, Andromeda yelled, unconsciously echoing Minerva McGonagall,  
“Your family loves you, and we will find a way to get you back!” The words sparked Harry’s memory, and he looked back to shoot a brilliant smile at Andromeda before disappearing. Andromeda turned back to her family, hair and eyes both now sparking. Before she could say a word, Nymphadora said,  
“We can’t just steal Harry Poddar, Mum!” Andromeda’s hair freed itself from her tight chignon, curling around her face.  
“And why not?” Nymphadora huffed at her, her hair turning yellow.  
“Mum! Dumbledore is his legal guardian!” Andromeda shook her head, sparks growing stronger.  
“That is absolutely ridiculous! Especially after what we just saw! Not to mention Lily Evans would have never agreed to that, and Jem knew he had family to help.” Nymphadora sighed at her.  
“Mum, I don’t understand why you dislike Dumbledore so much. He’s perfectly kind and always helping people.” Charlie snorted. Andromeda shared a look with her husband before speaking again.  
“Dora. Dumbledore has no manners and is far too political for a headmaster, a guardian of students. And he has too many people who follow him blindly. You’re not a Gryffindor, why do you have so much faith in him?” Nymphadora glared at her, but Andromeda continued before her daughter could open her mouth. “Besides, he’s a little too friendly for my tastes, and…if he is Harry’s actual guardian, he left him with people who mistreat him instead of taking up his duties.” Nymphadora deflated, looking dismayed. Her eyes went vacant as she checked her mental shields. Soon her eyes were sparking as well.  
“I’m sorry, Mum. He’s broken the shields you taught me before school. And slipped in mental suggestions not to worry about them, so I didn’t tell you earlier. How dare he! He is supposed to protect us, not violate us!” Andromeda wasn’t surprised to see Charlie and Ted’s murderous faces. She smiled grimly, the motion not reaching her eyes.  
“So, everyone’s agreed, we’re keeping Harry?” Her family nodded. Knowing they would follow, Andromeda stalked off in the direction she’d seen her little cousin disappear. 

Dudley had wanted to see the poisonous and ‘man-crushing’ snakes. Harry could have corrected him—snakes weren’t poisonous, they were venomous—but he knew better, so after meekly accepting Aunt Petunia’s berating and Uncle Vernon’s shaking, he followed them into the reptile house. It was very cool and nice; the snakes looked very relaxed, though Harry didn’t want to get too close to the Komodo dragon. Dudley, of course, found the hugest snake and pressed his noise excitedly to the glass. To his cousin’s disappointment, however, the snake looked half-asleep. Even when Dudley tapped on the glass, the snake didn’t move. Dudley’s whining and Uncle Vernon banging heavily on the glass with a fist didn’t elicit any movement either. Dudley eventually lost interest and moved onto something more active. Once his cousin was out of sight, Harry looked carefully around for his uncle and aunt, then moved closer to the snake’s enclosure. He stared at the snake. It was beautiful; with shiny brown scales of varying shades. Suddenly, the snake raised its head and moved closer to the glass, bumping its head.  
“Hello,” Harry hissed hesitantly, not sure if the snake would be able to feel his words. After meeting Minnie, Harry had found a book about snakes in the library, learning that snakes didn’t hear the way people did. They felt vibrations. To his delight, the snake bobbed its head and said,  
“Hello, Speaker. You are new. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” Harry grinned.  
“It’s nice to meet you too. Do you have a name?” The snake made a shrugging motion with its coils.  
“The humans here call me Benigno. It’s from their language Portuguese. I like it.” Harry nodded.  
“Oh, like from Brazil, since you’re a Brazilian python. Did you like it there?” The python gave him a look that was clearly sarcastic, then jabbed at the display sign to the right with his tail. Harry looked at the sign.  
“Oh, so you were born here in the zoo.” The snake bobbed his head. Unfortunately, that was when Piers caught sight of what Harry and Benigno were doing.  
“DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!” (p. 28 HPSS) he yelled. Harry was knocked away and over by Dudley’s rush to the glass. A few moments later, everyone was screaming. Harry didn’t quite see what had happened because he got picked up and dusted off by that nice lady Andromeda and then hidden behind Charles’ impressive bulk. A few moments later he looked down to see Benigno coiled around him.  
“Shh, be quiet. We don’t want to catch attention,” his new friend said. Harry nodded and looked up and around Charles. He only managed to prevent himself from laughing by slapping a hand over his mouth. Dudley, Piers, and Uncle Vernon had somehow gotten trapped inside the enclosure and were banging on the glass while Aunt Petunia was shrieking. He looked to his right, and saw Mrs. Andromeda grinning, with a glint in her eyes. Somehow, though Harry didn’t know how, he knew she had something do with what had happened. Noticing his gaze, she bent down, blocking Aunt Petunia from his sight.  
“Harry, you are going to go home with us now. We don’t want you to stay with those awful people anymore.” Harry blinked at her. Now that he wasn’t so scared, he noticed that Mrs. Andromeda had a soft, pretty accent. It sounded a bit like the French ones in the some of the shows Aunt Petunia watched, with a bit of something else that he couldn’t recognize. “Harry?” she asked when he didn’t answer. “Do you want to stay with us?” Harry chewed on his lip.  
“Do you mean it? I don’t have to go back to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon? Ever?” Mrs. Andromeda nodded, her eyes sparking like before.  
“Yes Harry, I mean it. You are family, and we will make sure you stay with us. Even if we have to move out of the country.” Harry ventured a small smile at her, and she smiled back. Gaining a little confidence, he stood up straighter, and said,  
“Okay. I will.” A second later, he was engulfed in a hug. At first, Harry tensed, never having been hugged before in his memory, but the action sparked a faint familiarity and he relaxed, enjoying the feeling of being held. Benigno, on the other hand, grumbled, and uncoiled himself from Harry, though he stayed nearby.  
When Andromeda finally set Harry down, her cousin was frowning.  
“What is it, Harry?” The little boy chewed on his lip again, then met her eyes.  
“It’s not very much…but there’s things I don’t want to leave at Aunt Petunia’s and Uncle Vernon’s. Can we get them?” Andromeda frowned, and he tensed, clearly afraid she was going to say no. She immediately bent back down.  
“Of course we can, love. I’ll send Charlie and my Ted to get it for you. What do you need?” Her little cousin fidgeted and looked down again, his voice quiet.  
“Everything’s in my cupboard under the stairs. Minnie, my corn snake might be exploring the house or garden though. I…found a few pictures of my Mum once when I was cleaning the attic. In one of them, she is little and is standing next to a boy with long hair, in another she’s with older people—I think they’re her parents, and the rest look like a party or wedding because she’s wearing what I think is a saree.” Andromeda put her hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging.  
“Is that everything, Harry?” He nodded quickly, like he was afraid of her changing her mind. He probably was, she thought with a spike of anger. She pulled Harry to her and beckoned at the python that seemed to have adopted him. Then she leaned to Charlie and whispered,  
“I want you to fiddle with the wards. Make sure Dumbledore can’t tell that Harry’s gone and conceal your magical signature.” Charlie nodded, his brown eyes flat.  
“Of course, cousin.” She patted him on the shoulder, then turned to kiss her husband. “Ted, just grab the things and back Charlie up please, I’ll see you at home.” Her husband nodded and kissed her back before looking around and disappearing with a quiet pop. Charlie quickly followed him. Andromeda heard a quiet gasp and looked down at her little cousin, who was staring at her with wide eyes.  
“What…” he said quietly. Andromeda winced and smiled at him. Naturally, he didn’t really know what magic was, with the kind of life he’d had so far.  
“I’ll explain later, Harry. But we will get home that way. It might make you feel a little sick, like being carsick.” Nymphadora, who had gotten closer, groaned.  
“Mẹ. Do we have to get home that way? Couldn’t we just take the train?” Andromeda shook her head.  
“You know that’s not a good idea, Dora. Anyone could see us.” Nymphadora sighed and picked up the snake.  
“I hate Side-Along. I’ll take myself and the snake,” she said, and popped away. Andromeda smiled, proud that her daughter could easily manage the subtle version of Apparition, and picked up Harry, following suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in no way fluent in Maori; I used Google Translate. I will be relying on Google Translate for most of the languages I don't know well or at all. (Everything except French, German, some Swahili, and bits and pieces of Mandarin and Arabic). If people have better resources to suggest or know the languages I use themselves and want to help, please tell me in the comments. 
> 
> Even if you don't, I'd love to hear your feedback. It's incredibly encouraging.
> 
> Updates will proceed every Friday, as time allows.


	3. Magic Is Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally gets some explanations, adjusts to living with the Tonks, and meets some new people, as well as learning more about his family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for memories of trauma being relived--just a reference to it, but if it bothers people, just skip over when Andromeda starts speaking in French. Also warnings for ingrained self-hatred. It is confronted and talked about. 
> 
>  
> 
> This one almost didn't get posted, but I remembered just in time. Hope you guys like it! Tell me what you think in the comments.

Almost a month later, Harry still couldn’t believe that he wasn’t dreaming. He felt that at any moment, he’d wake up and be back in his cupboard under the stairs. But every morning he’d wake up to sunlight streaming in his window, his snakes bickering good-naturedly, and Mr. Ted singing while he got ready for work. The Tonks wouldn’t let him make breakfast either. The first time that Mrs. Andromeda came down the stairs to see him at the stove, her expression was so horrified that Harry leaped under the table to hide. It took several long minutes for her to coax him out again. In fact, the Tonks wouldn’t let him do any chores except to keep his room clean, though he thought he was wearing Mrs. Andromeda down to letting him do his own laundry. Speaking of which, he had clothes that finally fit, though they still made Mrs. Andromeda frown. She muttered something about it not being safe to take him yet, and mundane clothes would have to do for now. Harry didn’t understand what she was talking about at all, though she did tend to wear different clothes from Nym and Mr. Ted most of the time. Either the Victorian clothes he’d seen her in at first, some sort of Asian dress that looked Chinese, but he knew it wasn’t, or what looked sort of like robes or plain dresses. Charlie also was dressed differently mostly too. It had taken both him and Nym—the nickname she insisted on—a while to convince Harry to stop calling them Mr. or Miss. They finally convinced him by saying that they’d only just graduated school and were still training for their jobs.  
Another thing that kept Harry from quite believing his new life was that the Tonks seemed just as strange and freaky as the Dursley told him he was, and no one seemed to be upset about. Their neighbors loved them, and they were friendly to him as well. One older woman with skin the same dark brown as Harry’s kept trying to speak to him in a language that sounded almost familiar. Luckily, she spoke English and was very patient, so Harry found himself learning what the lady called Marathi. The Tonks spoke other languages too. Mrs. Andromeda spoke what she called Tiếng Việt with Nym, and Mr. Ted spoke one called Maori with Nym as well. And at dinner Mr. Ted would usually say something in what he said was called Hebrew because he was Jewish. And all of them spoke French fluently. Besides all of the languages floating through the house, other strange things happened too. Mrs. Andromeda’s hair was never out of place, Nym’s hair was always changing colors, though not when they were outside the neighborhood, and Mr. Ted never had to iron his shirts. Not to mention, the pictures in the house moved. The first time Harry realized that, he jumped a foot in the air with an embarrassing squeak. And no one said anything about it. Any of it.  
So Harry was both relieved and scared when Mrs. Andromeda came into his room one morning to say they needed to have a conversation. He knew everything couldn’t continue to go on the way it was. It was too wonderful to believe. Once the whole family, including Charlie, was sitting in what Mrs. Andromeda called the parlor, she pulled out a piece of paper.  
“This is going to be a long conversation, but I’m going to start with something easy. Harry, you know I work at a hospital, right?” Harry nodded. Mrs. Andromeda kept very odd hours because of that. She smiled at him. “Well, it is the same hospital you were born at, and I finally found your birth certificate.” Harry stared at her, speechless. He had had no idea of that. Mrs. Andromeda seemed to have an idea of how much of an impact her words were having, because her smile gained a sympathetic quirk, and she held out her arms. Much less hesitantly than he would have when he first came, Harry ran into her arms. She squeezed him tight, then said, “Do you want me to read it to you, or do you want to read it?” Harry shrugged, words still not coming to him, so she held it in front of him and began to read it aloud. “Name: Harshad James Poddar. Date: July 31, 1980. Mother(s): Lily Sioned Evans Poddar. Father(s): James Homam Poddar. Godmother(s): Alice Brunhild Fortescue, Minerva Muireall McGonagall. Godfather(s): Severus Bedivere Snape, Sirius Nguyên Black.” Harry could make out the sound difference between ‘Potter’ and ‘Poddar’ now and was abruptly swamped with a spark of fury at Aunt Petunia. He was pulled out of it by noticing that Mrs. Andromeda was still talking. She’d put his birth certificate aside, and he slipped out of her lap to the floor, so he could see everyone. “—expect we’ll see a visit from Minerva soon.” For some reason, that name was familiar to Harry.  
“Why?” he asked curiously. Surprisingly, Mrs. Andromeda frowned, as did Mr. Ted, and Nym and Charlie both winced. Then Mrs. Andromeda nodded, and brushed off the skirt of the dress she’d told him was called an áo dài before standing up. She went to the fireplace, full of unburnt logs since it was summer. As she started to build a fire, she said,  
“It’s complicated. I want your godfather Severus and his husband here before we can explain why and everything that’s related.” Harry tilted his head, staring at her silently in question. She smiled awkwardly at him, clenching and unclenching her hands. “Harshad, why don’t you get Minnie or Benigno? We’re going to tell you a lot of new things, and it could be overwhelming.” Harry chewed on his lip thoughtfully but nodded. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered if Mrs. Andromeda was avoiding the question. He hoped not—she hadn’t broken her promises yet—but he’d never even heard of his godparents before. And how does a man have a husband? He wondered He knew men being with men wasn’t illegal, thanks to Uncle Vernon’s complaining and dark musing that Harry was bound to turn out the same, but marriage certainly wasn’t a thing he’d heard of before. Otherwise Uncle Vernon would have yet another thing to complain about.  
He came down with Benigno wrapped around him, since the two snakes noticed his nervousness and wanted the one that was big enough to protect Harry from almost anything or anyone. Harry almost tripped when he walked back into the living room and saw one man helping another out of a bright green fire. Thankfully he didn’t—he’d rather not risk crushing one of his only friends—but only barely. But he couldn’t stop himself from bursting out with a  
“Bloody hell!” Everyone turned to look at him, and his cheeks flushed hotly. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he turned in Mrs. Andromeda’s direction and muttered, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Andromeda. I know you don’t like swearing.” He heard a warm chuckle, and then a caustic voice said,  
“Well, Andromeda. I’m convinced. He’s certainly politer than his father ever was at the very least. Are you raising him to be a proper Slytherin? Because if he has Lily’s temper, I really don’t want to deal with him being in Minerva’s house. Dealing with her was quite enough, especially when we didn’t get along.” Curious at the mention of his mother’s name and his cheeks having finally cooled down, he looked up. The two men standing in front of the strange fire couldn’t look more different. The shorter man had a rather imposing nose that hooked slightly, sun-starved white skin, and dark black eyes. He was dressed in almost-black green, unadorned robes of the kind Charlie often wore. The taller man had a heavily scarred and freckled face, light brown skin, and grey eyes just like Mrs. Andromeda. He was wearing a plain, dark blue áo dài. There was one similarity between the two men; they both had black hair. The short man noticed Harry’s staring. His lips twitched before he said sharply, “Well, aren’t you going to ask our names, Harshad?” Harry shrugged, running a soothing hand over Benigno, who was uneasy with the newcomers, though not as much as Minnie would have been.  
“I’m guessing you must be Severus Snape and Regulus Black. Apparently, you’re married, though I don’t know how that’s possible. I hadn’t heard of my godfather Severus before today, but Mrs. Andromeda told me about her cousin Reggie, who was best friends with a Severus. I’m guessing they’re the same person, because Severus isn’t a common name.” He looked at the tall man, who was smiling. “You have to be Regulus, because you look like Mrs. Andromeda.” He turned back to the short man. “Which means you must be my godfather Severus. It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” He held his hand out to Severus, who was blinking rather quickly. He had to be nudged by Mr. Regulus. He jumped, then looked down and took Harry’s hand, shaking it gently.  
“You really are like Lily,” he said, his voice soft now. “She used to see everything in a few moments, and then start telling you everything she noticed.” His voice hardened again, as did his hand on Harry’s as he added, “Though I doubt she needed her skills the same way you did, living with Petunia. That lying old phoenix.” Harry frowned at the weird turn of phrase, but decided he liked this prickly new godfather of his. He caught the man’s eyes, and he saw them widen before Severus pulled him into a short, awkward hug. “I like you too, Harshad. Even though I thought I wouldn’t.” Harry smiled into the man’s robes, then pulled away, ignoring Benigno’s complaining hisses. He looked back at Mrs. Andromeda, whose eyes were suspiciously shiny, and ignored Charlie and Nym’s snickering.  
“What’s going on? How did they get here? Why did you want to talk to me?” he asked. Mrs. Andromeda stiffened, and glanced over at Mr. Ted. He smiled at Harry, and said,  
“That was rather weird, wasn’t it? With green flames and climbing out of fireplaces? But I’m betting that’s not the only weird thing you’ve noticed, or even done.” Harry shivered, and tightened his grip on Benigno. Instead of complaining, the python, wrapped closer around him, as if he could sense what Harry was thinking. I can’t! I can’t! They won’t like me anymore if I tell them I’m a freak. It’s a trick. It has to be. “Harry,” Mr. Ted said slowly, his voice quiet. “We won’t hurt you.” He pulled out a thin, tapered stick, and Harry, in spite of himself, flinched away. “I’m sorry,” Mr. Ted said. Harry tried to relax. Adults saying sorry wasn’t usual. Hopefully Mr. Ted meant it. Harry stared intently at the stick, then blinked and jumped back, falling into his godfather as Mr. Ted waved it, said something in Hebrew, and a wine bottle appeared in mid-air. Mr. Ted caught it neatly before it could fall, then set it on the side-table beside his chair as Severus helped Harry stand back up.  
“I don’t know why you won’t use Latin. It’s what we were taught in school,” Harry’s godfather said sourly, though Harry was pretty sure he didn’t mean the tone. Mr. Ted laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.  
“Oh Sev. That’s because of colonizers and imperialism. We both know intent is what matters, not the words. Besides, spells work better if based in your own culture, and if they make sense. English spells are just bad Latin. You should know that. You grew up in both worlds like me.” Severus huffed, but his voice held more amusement than sharpness as he said,  
“And I did take a Latin class, but not until after I graduated, you know that. Besides, do you know how hard it is to pronounce things correctly in Irish Gaelic?”  
“Do you know how hard it is to know whether we even know the right pronunciation in Hebrew?” Mr. Ted countered. Harry relaxed, recognizing that this was a familiar argument between the two men. Feeling tired, he leaned back against his godfather. To everyone else’s astonishment, Severus didn’t even attempt to remove the boy. He merely patted Harry gently on the head, then looked at Andromeda.  
“Andromeda. Why don’t you show him something? The more he sees us do it, the less scared he’s going to be.” Andromeda nodded sharply. She pulled out her wand, a slightly twisting one of yew. She pulled out a handkerchief as well, then said a sentence in Vietnamese, and suddenly there was a miniature áo dài, like for a doll, on her lap. She tapped her lip thoughtfully with the tip of her wand, ignoring her daughter’s wince at the motion, then pointed it at her hair and said,  
“Deviens vert clair!” Her hair was now bright green. Severus caught Harry’s flinch, and bent down to hear his godson muttering,  
“Not Mrs. Andromeda. No. No. No.” Severus looked at his cousin-in-law’s new hair color, then cursed.  
“Andromeda. Maybe a different color would be better?” She narrowed her eyes at him, then looked down at her cousin, and they widened. She grimaced, and quickly waved her wand to turn her hair back to its normal black-brown.  
“Harshad, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry. Dora, why don’t you or Charlie show him something?” Harry blinked, and when Severus nudged him, he said shakily,  
“Both of you, please.” Nym grinned at him, and instead of pulling out a wand, she scrunched up her face, and suddenly she had the same narrow, sharp features and striking black eyes of his godfather. Harry gasped, and then broke out into delighted laughter.  
Normally, Severus would have reprimanded Tonks for her choice of impersonation, but, well, they weren’t at Hogwarts. And besides, it made his godson, who reminded him of a much more restrained version of his first friend, smile. So he merely raised a questioning eyebrow at her after she returned her face to its usual configuration. She grinned at him and turned to Charlie Weasley.  
“Charlie, you’re up,” she said playfully. Her best friend mock-glared at her and pulled out his sturdy elm-wood wand.  
“ffurfiwch ddraig anadlu tân coch” A fiery impression of a dragon appeared and seemed to roar before disappearing. Harry actually clapped at that one. Everyone else stared at Charlie except for Nym, who was rolling her eyes. “What?” he said, shrugging. “Everyone else was showing off. I thought Welsh would be more impressive since Cousin Andromeda already did French.” Severus shook his head.  
“You just had to show us up, didn’t you, Weasley?” Charlie laughed. Andromeda cleared her throat, pulling everyone’s attention back to her.  
“Now, after that demonstration, we need to continue explaining things.” She Vanished the miniature áo dài and stood. Approaching Harry, she knelt down in front of him, in an effort not to intimidate. “Harry, you remember how we got you to our house? And all the other things you’ve seen?” Harry nodded. She smiled, reaching out a hand to squeeze his arm gently. “Well, all of that is magic. We are magic. You are magic. We’re what we call magicians or mages, and other people call witches or wizards.” Harry stared at her, thinking. Finally, he said softly, holding her gaze,  
“So, I’m not a freak? Are you sure this isn’t just a dream?” Mrs. Andromeda’s eyes widened and grew shiny, while her mouth thinned to the point of disappearance. She pulled him into one of her increasingly common hugs, and said, each word sharp enough to cut,  
“No. Harshad. You are not a freak. And you are not dreaming. Those awful people, I could…” she trailed off. From behind, Severus put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and added his own sharp commentary.  
“Petunia was always too sharp to be kind. I’m not surprised she turned into such a monster, with that Vernon to encourage her. Lily is turning over in her grave right now. You should have ended up with one of us.” It took a while, but finally Harry relaxed. He wasn’t entirely sure he could quite believe them yet, but he did believe that they cared and the explanation for what he could do made a certain sort of sense. He did have another question though.  
“Why didn’t I end up with any of you?” Severus cursed, and Mrs. Andromeda cursed before pulling him with her to the chair. Harry didn’t protest, even though he was far too big to sit on her lap, because he had the feeling she needed it more than he did. He looked back at his godfather, who was grimacing, while Mr. Regulus was holding him. He sighed when he realized Harry was looking at him.  
“We have to start at the beginning. Whatever your aunt and uncle told you, if anything, about how your parents died, was wrong. Before you were born, a war was going on. It started truly breaking out when I was not more than a few years older than you. I…was not popular at school. Besides Reg, your mother was one of my only friends. But I made some stupid decisions, and her starting to date one of my bullies only pushed me further in the other direction.” He pulled up the sleeve of his robes, revealing a rather ugly tattoo of a skull with a snake twisted in a figure-eight through it. Harry didn’t know why, but it made him vastly uneasy. He forced his eyes back to meet his godfather’s. Severus smiled flatly, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Well, I realized my mistake eventually, as Reg realized his. And your father grew up and apologized, though he was never my favorite person. Which is why I was made one of your godfathers. Unfortunately, I was trapped. I was forced to become a spy, and I revealed a prophecy to both sides.” He ran a hand over his face, and Harry noticed that his godfather was shaking. Mrs. Andromeda hugged Harry tighter, and said, her voice warm but firm,  
“Severus. It was not your fault. Both Voldemort and Dumbledore were trying to use you. You were just trying to stay alive. And you tried to save Lily and James. It was Peter’s fault. None of us knew he’d betrayed James.” Harry’s godfather smiled weakly, but he’d stopped shaking. Harry noticed that Severus allowed Mr. Regulus to pull him down to sit on the floor though. His godfather took a deep breath.  
“So, the reason that I couldn’t take you is that most people know I was on the wrong side, and very few know I was a double agent. Besides, I don’t have much political power either. And I owe Dumbledore, the man who placed you with the Dursleys, my freedom, much to my displeasure.” Now Mr. Regulus finally spoke. His voice was very rough, but it held a hint of the same accent that Mrs. Andromeda had.  
“When your parents died, however, there were still three other godparents to take you. My brother Sirius, Alice Fortescue Longbottom, and Minerva McGonagall. But Sirius was wrongfully imprisoned for the crime of betraying your parents, and a few days after, Alice and her husband were tortured to insanity because someone betrayed their hiding place. Minerva, on the other hand, I’m not sure why she didn’t take you.” Severus sighed loudly.  
“Minerva knows where you were. Unlike everyone else. But she once told me, in the strictest confidence, when she’d had a bit too much to drink, that Dumbledore had taken the memory of where you were from Hagrid. As brave as she is, she knows that Dumbledore has more power, politically, if not magically. I think she was worried she would lose custody of you.” Harry frowned, but nodded.  
“Alright. I think I sort of understand. I’m guessing no one had the ability to get at my parents’ wills?” Severus snorted humorlessly.  
“Dumbledore says he read James’, and it gave him authority. But I doubt that. I witnessed Lily’s and I know both of them had their wills sealed by Gringotts, the magical world’s banking system, and Dumbledore is not welcomed by them.”  
The rest of the summer, up until mid-August, was spent by Harry being taught etiquette and old spells in Vietnamese and French by Mrs. Andromeda and Regulus—who convinced Harry to leave off the Mr.—potions, how to protect his mind, and how to be properly cunning and ambitious by his godfather Sev, about the peoples and animals of the magical world by Charlie, everything else about the magical world by Mr. Ted, and Nym taught him how to control his hair, because apparently, he had some of the talent that she did. Only enough to change his hair and eyes, though. She also started calling him Shay, much to Mrs. Andromeda’s dismay. But he decided he preferred both Harshad and Shay to Harry.  
So when Minerva McGonagall showed up on their doorstep with her wife and eldest two children, the only one to be surprised was her.  
“Hello Minerva, Khurshid, Bellona, Deepa. Come in.” Both of Minerva’s daughters gave her knowing looks, and her wife just laughed, before accepting Andromeda’s invitation. Once they were inside, Andromeda smiled and said, “I assume you came to introduce Harshad to the magical world and make sure he got a chance to go to Hogwarts?” Minerva stared at her for a long moment and then finally gave into slightly hysterical laughter. Andromeda and Khurshid patted her on the back, while Bellona and Deepa exchanged embarrassed expressions, especially when Harshad walked in. He blinked, then bowed shallowly to everyone in general before saying hesitantly,  
“It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Godmother Minerva. Would you introduce me to your family?” Minerva got ahold of herself, and nodded, her voice a little hoarse as she said,  
“Harshad James, may I introduce you to my wife Khurshid Caoimhe, my eldest daughter Bellona Amrita, though she prefers Rita, and finally, my middle daughter Deepa Felicitas.” Shay thanked her, then asked shyly if he could hug her. Minerva, choked up, naturally said yes. Fighting tears, she whispered in his ear, “I am so sorry, Harshad. I should have never listened to Dumbledore. There was no good reason for me not to take you.”  
“I accept your apology, Godmother,” Shay said simply. Pulling back so he could meet her eyes, he added, “I remembered you, you know. Not clearly, but I used to dream about you talking to me. And I named my first snake Minnie.” At this, the tough Scottish woman broke into tears. Shay awkwardly hugged her again, not quite sure what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a bit of a time-jump backwards in the beginning of this chapter and the prior one. The Tonks took Harry in the spring.  
> In this ‘verse Snape is Irish-English, because Eileen is an Irish name, so I decided that the Prince family was Irish, though an English person probably married in at some point.  
> Minerva’s wife is Pakistani-Scottish; she speaks Punjabi and probably Gaelic as well as English.  
> Also, I don’t speak Welsh. At all, even though I have Welsh ancestry. It’s hard. So, Google Translate was used again.  
> Speaking of Welsh, Charlie speaks Welsh because I researched the Prewett name, and found history of it as a Welsh surname. Because my Molly is a lot like canon Molly, and she's the last Prewett (I think), I feel like she'd be really invested in her kids knowing their ancestry, and Arthur wouldn't care quite as much. Plus he's laid back anyway.  
> Obviously, Regulus lived in this verse.


	4. Diagon Alley and Other Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wands are gotten, Shay meets Hermione, and we learn why underestimating Andromeda is a singularly bad idea. Also, Lucius Malfoy is a jerk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Um. This took an unexpected turn. Full warning. Discussion of abuse, and presence of racism, sexist slurs, and general assholery. Does not reflect views of author.

After his godmother finally calmed down, everyone decided to take Shay to Diagon Alley to get his school things, particularly since they could avoid the usual pre-school rush.  
His godfather and Uncle Reg decided to go home, because Sev had lesson-planning to work on. But everyone else came along. Shay smiled up at Dr. Rita. She was a scientist and not a magician, except for being able to see magic, but her job sounded just as cool as magic.  
Everyone insisted that Shay change his hair and eyes to catch less attention—apparently, he was famous because his parents died, and he didn’t. Lots of people thought he stopped Voldemort, which Sev and Uncle Reg said was ridiculous, because he’d been one. Sev said it was probably his mum being very clever and brave, and Shay was inclined to agree. One-year-olds couldn’t stop powerful magicians who were more than four decades old.  
Hermione Granger heard the bell on the door ringing, but she didn’t look up from her book on Wizarding culture until she heard a soft voice say,  
“Hello. I’m Shay. Are you getting your stuff early too?” She jumped and met the hazel-green eyes of a boy who was shorter than her. Which was impressive, because Hermione was tiny. Which she blamed on both of her parents. Especially her mum, who didn’t even clear five feet. She smiled cautiously at the boy, who was chewing his lip as he continued to meet her eyes. Her smile became more sincere as she realized he was nervous too.  
“Hi. My name is Hermione.” She held out a hand, and he hesitated, then took it with a firm grasp. He caught a glimpse of her book title and winced.  
“Don’t get that one. If you want good, less biased literature about magical culture, come with me. My godmother and my cousin can help you find better stuff. Actually, why don’t you come with us? You’ll get better supplies.” He kept hold of her hand and pulled her along. Bemused, Hermione didn’t protest. But when she saw who her new friend was with, she gulped.  
“M-Minnie! Mrs. Andromeda! This is Hermione. Can she come with us? I found her reading that Crouch book on culture that you said was absolute garbage.” Minerva turned, delighted that her godson was already using the nickname he had just barely begun to call her before his parents died. She was also heavily amused by his wording. She was even more amused when she saw who her godson’s new companion was. Hermione Granger, one of her non-magical students this year, stared at her with big eyes. It would be unkind to laugh, so she held back the chuckles that wanted to come out at seeing the expression on the young girl’s face. Behind her, Rita and Deepa had no such concerns, and were giggling helplessly.  
“Hello, Miss Granger. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I see you’ve met my godson,” she managed finally. Miss Granger blinked at her, then turned to Harshad with a glint in her eye.  
“Your godmother is Professor McGonagall?!” Harshad edged away from her slightly.  
“Ye-es. Is that a problem?” he asked cautiously. She shook her head fervently, her spiraling curls bouncing.  
“No! But that’s a bit of a shock to put on a person. She’s the first witch I’ve met!” Harshad pushed his glasses up on his nose—now a sturdy tortoiseshell pair that Andromeda had gotten him when he first came with the Tonks—and said seriously,  
“Ok. I’m sorry for not warning you. But it’s magician or mage, not witch. If you’re being proper.” Miss Granger looked at him pointedly and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, both Dr. Grangers appeared out of the stacks.  
“Hermione, where did you-oh, hello, Professor McGonagall. Hello Dr. Lithgow, Mrs. Lithgow-McGonagall, Ms. McGonagall,” Miss Granger’s mother said. She looked down and saw Harshad. “Did Hermione make a friend?” Minerva smiled, and proceeded to make introductions.  
“It’s a pleasure to see you both again. Dr. Ngozi Sunday Granger and Dr. Jonathan Ndidi Granger, meet my godson Harshad James and his guardians Andromeda Huê Black Tonks and her husband Edward Tane Tonks.” Ngozi nodded politely, her eyes narrowed.  
“This form of introduction is a tradition, isn’t it?” she asked. Minerva nodded.  
“It is. I don’t actually know where it came from. I’m not sure anyone does, but when you meet someone for the first time, you are supposed introduce yourselves to each other by your title, first name, and middle name, if you have one. Surnames are optional.” Minerva looked down when she felt a light tap. Harshad was looking up at her expectantly. She laughed briefly, then looked back up to say, “It seems my godson has taken a shine to your daughter. Would you like to go shopping for school supplies with us?” The Drs. Granger exchanged glances, then shrugged.  
“Why not?” Jonathan said. “You certainly have more of an idea than us of what you’re doing.” Khurshid snorted. Minerva ignored her.  
So, the school supply searching group was enlarged by three. Hermione and Shay were inseparable, chattering so fast that only Nym and Charlie could keep up. Ted, Rita, and Jonathan ended up in a discussion, while the mothers—Minerva, Khurshid, Andromeda, Ngozi, and Deepa—formed their own group. Most of the trip was fairly uneventful, Minerva, Shay, and Andromeda guiding the Grangers to the better products and prices and telling them the information that usually first-generations didn’t get.  
The trip started to get complicated when they went for wands. Andromeda preferred not to patronize Ollivander, because the man had no sense of decorum. And yes, she knew she was being a bit of a snob. She didn’t care. So she took everyone down one of the streets that spun off of Diagon, Vertic. Unfortunately, another family was patronizing Khanna’s. One that Andromeda knew very well. She looked closer. She didn’t see Lucius. Perhaps it would be alright. She turned back to the rest of the group, all of whom except Ted, her daughter, and the boy she was already thinking of as a son, were staring at her in clear confusion. She sighed, then spoke quickly.  
“My sister and her son are shopping. We don’t get along, particularly because her husband hates non-magical people, and Narcissa won’t challenge him.” The Grangers frowned, and their daughter looked ready to start yelling, but thankfully Harshad squeezed her hand tightly and whispered something in her ear. Even more fortunately, Professor McGonagall completely understood, and convinced the Grangers to go get tea with her, enlisting her eldest’s help to drag them off.  
So they didn’t immediately attract the attention of the Malfoys when they walked in. Because the Khannas used much more subtle ways than a bell to let them know when a customer walked in, they didn’t initially attract any attention at all. They were being helped by Rowan, one of Nymphadora’s friends from school when Narcissa finally noticed them. Or more correctly, she noticed Andromeda. Leaving her currently pouting son—seriously, how could her society belle of a sister have raised such a brat—Narcissa walked over in her usual gliding steps that made her appear like she was floating. For some reason, since the last time she’d laid eyes on her sister, the younger woman had dyed her beautiful ebony hair a flat white-blonde. Andromeda couldn’t help falling into childhood patterns.  
“Cissy. Why did you dye your hair that dreadful color? You look you accidentally washed it with chalk.” Her baby sister raised a brow and twirled her wand, muttering in French under her breath. Andromeda didn’t try to get out of the way of the Stinging Hex. It was merely Cissy’s classier way of sticking out her tongue. But the French was strange. Cissy had always preferred Tiếng Việt and English to French, much to the despair of their well-bred French mother. Andromeda took a closer look at her sister and sucked in a breath. Cissy had always loved glamours, begging their mother to teach her as soon as she hit eleven. But the amount she was wearing…and they weren’t just make-up and allure either. “Cissy, Hoa nhỏ, what’s going on? Are you alright?” Behind her, she heard the others muttering, and a whisper by Ted to ask Rowan to take them elsewhere, but she barely gave them any notice, especially when her proud little sister, instead of drawing herself up and insulting Andromeda, like she usually did these days, instead collapsed into her arms like her strings had been cut.  
“Ngôi sao lớn, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t. I never wanted to marry him in the first place, you know that.” Andromeda did know that. When she was still in school, starting the year Andromeda graduated, Cissy had been flirting with two others, one a year younger than Andromeda, and one of them a year younger than Cissy. Her baby sister had sent her letters in secret, and she had seemed utterly smitten with both. But not even a year after Cissy graduated, she sent Andromeda one last letter saying she was marrying Lucius Malfoy, an absolute wanker two years older than Andromeda. Their parents had insisted on it, and she was too scared to say no. And Andromeda, as much as she wanted to tear her precious baby sister, her best friend besides Ted, away from their toxic family, understood. The War was rumbling, and her sister would only be a target if she ripped herself away. So would her loves. And Bellatrix, their once loyal chiến binh, had become an unstable fanatic obsessed with proving her devotion to “her Lord” and hunting down “traitors”. So Andromeda had accepted the cool distance and left her sister alone except when they couldn’t avoid running into each other. She smoothed a gentle hand over Cissy’s now straw-like hair and let her sister cry into her shoulder while she prepared herself for a duel. She found herself looking over Cissy’s head to meet her nephew’s. He had the cool gray eyes of a Black, and clearly the temper, seeing the way he was glaring in her direction and muttering things under his breath that she knew were uncomplimentary. She sighed, and whispered to Cissy,  
“Hoa nhỏ. Should I protect your son, as rude as he is? I am frankly astounded that you raised such a brat.” Her sister choked out a wet laugh, nodding.  
“Please don’t leave him with M-Malfoy. Draco would be better, likely, if it wasn’t for that man’s influence. I try my best, but…” she trailed off. Andromeda nodded, and kissed the top of her sister’s head before handing her off to Nymphadora, who, not surprisingly, had remained. Her daughter’s hair turned an interesting mix of white, black, and yellow at being handed her clearly distraught aunt, but she cautiously put her arms around Cissy. More surprisingly, Harshad and his new friend were still there, joined by one of the school-age Khannas. She pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly.  
“All three of you listen to me,” she hissed flatly, in no mood to deal with this right now. Nymphadora was an adult, but these children were eleven. “You will hide, and when I get Draco over here, you will hide him, even if he protests. When his father gets here, you will follow Dora and Madam Black out of the back. I do not want innocents in the crossfire.” Little Hermione was wide-eyed, the Khanna child was sober, and Harshad looked resigned.  
“Yes, Mrs. Andromeda,” he said, his voice quiet, but steady. The other two nodded along with him, and Nymphadora looked annoyed but accepting. Cissy’s face was still hidden. Andromeda nodded sharply, then crossed the shop to drag her nephew to safety. He protested fervently, but subsided into a sullen silence when she hissed,  
“Do you want to be a hostage for your mother? Because I can tell you, that is what your father will use you as. And I suspect you know that.” She had just gotten the others hidden when Lucius walked in. To her frustration, he looked just as immaculate as ever, showing no evidence of the bastard he really was.  
“Narcissa, ma petite fleur, you will never guess who I ran into. I would—” He never finished his sentence, because then he caught sight of Andromeda, who had stiffened at the endearment that was so close to her childhood name for her sister, and his expression became an ugly sneer. She firmed her grip on her wand. “Narcissa, Draco. We’re leaving. There’s far too much filth and stench in this shop. The Khannas really have lowered the tone of their establishment.” There was an offended scoff from the lone Khanna left in the shop, but no other response, though Andromeda did hear the faint sound of a muffled scuffle, as if three children had prevented a fourth from running out. Lucius’ sneer became a bewildered frown, as if he had never been refused anything before. He probably hadn’t. His father, widowed young, had spoiled his young heir rotten.  
“They’re not coming, Lucius,” Andromeda said coolly. “They finally got tired of your selfishness and cruelty. I always knew my sister was too smart and good for you. She knew it too. She just didn’t want to die or uproot her son’s life.” At first, Lucius just sputtered, his blue eyes wide, and his mouth gaping like a fish. Andromeda rather enjoyed the view. Lucius Malfoy was rarely flatfooted like that. Unfortunately, it was all too brief.  
“Why you, you absolute bitch! How dare you! Narcissa married better than you, marrying a Mudblood who isn’t even white. She should be happy I condescended to marry her. Her options were limited, considering she doesn’t look properly European. I still fail to understand why someone like Druella Rosier married into a family like yours.” Andromeda just shook her head. She’d heard worse in the mundane world, though insults like that were never fun to hear. Well, at least she’d cracked Lucius’ calm, and he’d probably be banned from Khannas, and any of their businesses in the future, if the look the Khanna still behind the counter was sending him was any indication.  
“Lucius. I was hoping this could be peaceful, but I was expecting your reaction to be something like this. Why don’t we take it outside, so we don’t destroy the shop?” Lucius sneered at her, his blue eyes icy and practically sparking.  
“I don’t think so, blood traitor. You’re just trying to get me in trouble. No, if it’s a duel you want, we will duel right here, right now.” Andromeda sighed, and shrugged off her over robe. No point in leaving hanging sleeves to be a hazard. The older mage’s sneer briefly dropped to show wide-eyed shock. She resisted the urge to laugh. This was not the time, and there was no need to antagonize him further. At least not before they’d even started dueling. But her soon to be ex-brother-in-law really was an idiot. Had he forgotten that she had been one of the most vicious and dangerous duelists on either side of the war already? She moved into proper stance and considered her strategy as Malfoy removed his wide-sleeved over robe as well. To his clear bewilderment—he never had been very good at concealing his emotions—she didn’t make any other move. She smirked at him. Andromeda had no wish to be arrested for this. She would make him act first. Besides, despite her fury, she was able to think past it. It was one of the few things she genuinely was grateful to her family for. Hot tempers ran in the Black family, and over time, they had learned to channel and use that. The Malfoys, on the other hand, had not. Andromeda met Lucius’ eyes, and waited.  
Finally, he lost his temper and leaped at her, his face contorting, and he began to spit out spells. Naturally, due to his high emotions, his aim was off, which only infuriated him further. Andromeda was able to guide him toward the door, backing up and shooting mostly shields, though with some more vicious ones added in. To her delight, one of her shouted “Protége-moi” spells lined up with Lucius forcing her out the door.  
No one could say that Andromeda wasn’t a true Slytherin. So the entire street, which despite being far from crowded, was also far from empty, was witness to one of the influential men in all of Magical Britain shouting jinxes and curses at one of the most respected Healers in Europe. Needless to say, Lucius Malfoy had far more enemies and reluctant allies than friends, while the opposite was true for his erstwhile sister-in-law. And with the war almost eleven years over, he was no longer feared quite as much as he could have been.  
Aurors were on the scene within seconds, and they were more than willing to listen to the woman who had been one of their most reliable backups during the war, particularly since she had multiple witnesses to back her up, and most of the DMLE had an entirely warranted grudge against Lucius Malfoy.  
Andromeda waited to start grinning vindictively until she found the others at her favorite clothes shop, Dressing the Globe. She knew it probably wouldn’t stop Lucius forever, but it would certainly tarnish him, and encourage others to bring their grievances forward. It would make it much easier for Cissy to get free, and Draco to become a decent human being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Grangers are Nigerian, though Jonathan is biracial.  
> And yes, that was a Hogwarts: Mystery reference. I decided to include it—it’s canon-ish that I like.
> 
> Translations:   
> chiến binh: warrior (Vietnamese)  
> Hoa nhỏ: little flower (Vietnamese)  
> Ngôi sao lớn: big star (Vietnamese)  
> Tiếng Việt : Vietnamese
> 
> Ma petite fleur: my little flower (French)  
> protege-moi: protect me (French)
> 
> I do not speak Vietnamese. Google Translate was used for the Vietnamese. Feel free to offer better wording/translations


End file.
